The Tale of the Hawk and the Spider
by Heart Torn Out
Summary: kid!Natasha is rescued from death by Clint, the man who was sent to kill her. Now he has to get her home safe with a little help from our favorite Agent Coulson. But can he help this troubled child? And will Clint find something worth fighting for?
1. Tell Me What You Want To Hear

**Ok. So. I know I have a lot of fics running around, but I'm starting this one so that I have something to do in the summer along with Another Brick In The Wall. **

**Also the idea was something so amazing that I couldn't pass it up so I claimed it.**

**So, someone on Tumbr wanted kid!Natasha and parental-figure!Clint and parental-figure!Phil with something starting between the two of them because of kid!Natasha. So she wanted Natasha to be this killing machine Russian child that Agent Barton is sent to kill, but he's like, hell no, too young and he gets the help of Phil to keep her safe and raise her. So it's kind of a new take on a Clint-Nat-Phil family. Its not Clintasha, but it may be a bit Cup-Cake (clint/coulson) so I warn you now not to read it if that's not your cup of tea. **

**But it's a really swell idea and i couldn't say no, especially since I RP as Hawkeye on tumblr now as hotguyhawkeye if anyone wants to check me out!**

**So. **

**With that being said, I'll most likely be updating this whenever inspiration hits, so maybe once a week while I work up my comeback with Another Brick In The Wall. This is a request, so.**

***shrugs* Here goes nothing.**

**Current Song: Must Have Done Something Right by Relient K**

**Current Thought: I HAVE SO MUCH HW I'M NOT DOING.**

* * *

**The Tale of the Hawk and the Spider**

Kill the Black Widow. That was his assignment and Clint Barton, Agent of SHIELD, always carried out his assignments. They were everything to him, the core of his being, the reason for him still sticking around in the land of the living, though if you saw his job description, you'd think otherwise.

So he was going to kill the Black Widow. Whether he liked it or not.

Or at least he thought he was. He really thought he was.

Because then he saw her and oh, God, how fucking cruel could the world be?

Standing in front of him, with bare feet and skinned knees, in clothes too big to fit comfortably and covered in so much blood and gore, was a little girl. She was about eight, if he was right, judging by the way her body wasn't shaped yet into a woman's, by the way her bottom lip still pouted. She was eight years old with red hair and green eyes that had seen too much, eyes that looked at him blankly, yet filled with anger. Eyes that made him want to rip his heart out if it would only help because this couldn't be possible. This could not be possible.

Clint immediately dropped his gun. He dropped to his knees on instinct to make himself less threatening because he could not believe this. He really couldn't wrap his mind around this. She was a kid. She was a fucking kid, fucking eight years old. She was a kid and Clint was old enough to be her father and she was pressing a gun to his forehead without any remorse, only hesitating on the trigger because of his odd behavior. He could only stare. Her face was scratched up, bruised and bloodied. And she was so calm. Her hand wasn't even shaking.

And she was the Black Widow for Heaven's sake, she'd killed before, no wonder her hands weren't shaking. She was used to this. What the hell had happened to her to make her start this young? What?

Clint was not an emotional man. In his line of work, he couldn't be. That would be the worst thing ever. But right now? Right now his paternal instincts were screaming at him to just wrap her up in his arms and never let the world touch her again.

He lifted a hand to her cheek and she flinched so hard the gun knocked against his skull, but he still laid it gently on her face, his thumb rubbing a cut. For some reason, she hadn't shot him yet and he was hoping she didn't anytime soon. He needed to help her. He needed to do something, he couldn't just let this go.

"Who hurt you?" he asked softly in Russian. There was no reason to assume she could speak English. As a matter of fact, they had chosen Clint for the job only because she was so high up on the danger skill and he was the most fluent of their Russian speakers.

He wasn't expecting her eyes to get so large and then the line of her mouth got hard and she pressed the barrel harder into his forehead, the metal digging into his skin. Her body was rigid. And she didn't speak, just let her trigger-finger twitch. It only hit Clint now that he was the first person she hadn't killed. And she was the first person that he wouldn't kill. How ironic that they should be going through this adventure and experience together.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly. "Not like them. I was told to, but I refuse." He nodded against the barrel of the gun. "I refuse. And I'm asking you: would you like to get away from here?"

She stared at him and he let her. He let her press that gun close and watched as she frowned and stared into his eyes. He wouldn't kill her. He was putting his entire career and more likely than not his entire life on the line for her. He was serious. He was serious and terrified of an eight year old girl and it was messing him up.

"I won't force you. I won't hurt you. But I can get you away. It doesn't have to be like this," he said, still in Russian, his voice still soft. "Tell me your name." She shook her head though and for a second, Clint thought she was going to blow him away. But then he saw her waiting expectantly and he caught on. "I'm Agent Barton. Some people call me Hawkeye. You can call me Clint."

Then he heard the smallest voice say, "Natasha." The gun fell away and he looked up into her eyes. They were filling with tears. She stepped back and he stood up slowly, hands out, unthreatening. She lifted her arms up to him and her lower lip wobbled for the first time. "Take me away," she said in fluent Russian and it was obvious to see that she was a native.

And Clint did. He picked her up, tucked her close to his body and ran as fast as he could out of the warehouse they were in and to the car he had stashed away, waiting for him. He tucked her into the backseat, covering her with blankets and put his coat under her head as a pillow and didn't say another word. He just got up front and drove out of there as fast as he could. He was trying to make for the Polish boarder as quickly as possible.

As he drove, he jammed his comm. back into his ear. "Barton," was the first thing he heard and it was a relief, given the circumstances of what he just did. God he was so fucked. "I take it the kill went well."

"I have her with me."

There was a pause and then, "Barton, you didn't need to bring the body-"

"No, sir. I have the Widow with me."

"Excuse me?"

"I have the damn kid with me, Phil," Clint said, breaking protocol and just practically yelling it out. "She's like, eight. Shit, did you know? Tell me you didn't know Phil, or I'll lose all my respect for you, because I sure as hell didn't know that Fury wanted me to kill a fucking prepubescent girl!"

He heard a gasp and then he heard the click as they were switched to a private line. "No, I didn't know that Clint. Why the hell did you take her?"

"I wasn't going to just leave her alone. She's _8_," Clint emphasized.

"What are you going to do? When Fury finds out, and he will find out, even if it's not from me, he's going to go ballistic. What are you going to do, Hawkeye?"

Clint shook his head. "She's an asset. I can at least convince him of that. I can't let them kill her. I just – I don't… Jesus Christ Phil, she's all fucked up in the head. I couldn't just kill her and I couldn't just leave her. She's…" He shook his head and took an exit. "I don't know. I'll think of something."

There was a tapping on Coulson's end and then Clint heard, "Get to the Polish border. There' s an old friend who'll meet you there. He'll have things ready for the two of you."

Clint blinked then looked back at the little girl – no wait, at Natasha and found that she was still awake. "Coulson… no, don't get involved in this. If my career or my life goes down the drain, you don't have to get dragged down too." He sighed and blinked as he looked down the road. "And besides, she could still kill us."

"I trust you," Coulson said and then hung up on him. "Fuck," Clint swore. He shook his head and kept driving.

After an hour, Natasha said, "Where are you taking me?"

He looked to the back in the rearview mirror, almost startled, and said, "Poland."

"And who is sending us there?" she said, a bit more deadly.

Clint focused his eyes on the road again. "A friend."

* * *

**I don't know. I want Natasha to come off as an adult, but be a little kid. Just so that we know the entire extent of the damage that has been raged up on her.**

**So.**

**Reviews would be so wonderful right about now, my loves.**


	2. It's The First Time You Had It All

**Ok! Sorry that took a while. But here's the next chapter.**

**Current Song: Gunslinger - Over It**

**Current Thought: I just brought a box of pizza to bed with me. When did I turn into a bum?**

* * *

**The Hawk and the Spider Part 2**

They made it to Poland and Clint got in touch with Phil's guy. He was given a duffle with new clothes, passports (he had taken a moment to doctor Natasha's with a quick picture of her), maps, plane tickets, money and a new clunker of a car. He nodded to the man, said not a word more, and bundled Natasha up into the car once he had made sure she changed. She hadn't let him help her, just disappeared into the small bathroom and came out in the new, slightly better fitting clothes.

"Tell Phillip he owes me," the man said in a heavily accented voice.

Clint nodded. "That I'll do." And then they were gone.

The man, Thomas, had given Clint a map with the route they were going to take back to America written on it in red ink. They had to get to France, take the underwater tunnel to London, then take an illegal flight out of the U.K. to New York. Clint could work with that, devising different ways to get to France in his mind as he drove. He'd grabbed them something to eat an hour or two ago, and Natasha had barely eaten. He sighed. What was he going to do with her?

"You should have killed me," he heard and met her eyes in the rearview mirror. Her green irises were stony and cold, honest and conflicted. And she was eight. God, that was so messed up.

Clint gritted his teeth. "No. I think I did ok. Why? Are you regretting going with me?" he asked. She was silent and he sighed again. He didn't know the first thing about taking care of kids. He'd been the youngest and Barney hadn't done that spectacular of a job, anyway. "Are you tired?" Clint hadn't seen her sleep yet, and that was worrisome. It had been two days. "I promise you won't end up anywhere other than where we're going. You can sleep."

Natasha glared at him, her face hardening under the dirt that covered her skin. The kid really needed a bath, but Clint didn't even want to know how that was going to go. She stared at him, not saying a word, until he changed the subject. "Right, never mind. So… Have you ever been outside of Russia?"

At first, he thought she wasn't going to answer him, but then she said, "Yes. I do not know where, but I have. The places looked the same, though. I only knew they were different because the people there did not speak the same language as I did." She fell silent again.

"Natasha," Clint started. But then she met his eyes again.

"Do not give me your false pity, your false kindness. I want none of it. I need to escape. That is all you are here for." She practically hissed at him, then went back to staring blankly out the window.

Clint swallowed hard, his heart aching a bit for a child who had never gotten the chance to actually be one. He focused his eyes back on the road. An hour later he stopped for gas and when he came back to the car, he saw that she had fogged up the glass of the back window and drawn a ballerina on it before she caught him looking and wiped it away with her sleeve.

* * *

Clint hated France for a lot of reasons. One of them was happening right now. Misinformation. All of his French contacts misinformed him. Every single one of them.

"What do you mean the next train is out in three days?" he asked, seething.

"Repairs," the scantily clad woman in front of him seethed. "I'm sorry Hawkeye, but I can't do anything about that." She smiled saucily at him. "But, _mon cheri_, we can occupy ourselves in the meantime…"

"No," he said blankly, rolling up the window and driving away from her. She was his least favorite; a French slut with too much time on her hands and not enough people who wanted to spend that time with her. Clint shuddered.

Three days. They had three days to kill until the next train out to London. This was absolutely ridiculous. He turned up a cobbled lane and then parked in the lot of a dilapidated looking building. Clint sucked up all his courage then turned in his seat and looked at the haggard kid sitting in the back. She'd gotten about six hours of sleep in the past few days that they'd been travelling. It was exactly the same time he'd gotten, as he took the advantage of her sleeping to get some shut-eye himself.

"We're stuck here for three days," he said quietly. "We're going to be staying in this building until then. Let's go." He didn't leave any room for discussion, because the last time he'd done that, she'd thrown an argument and then refused to leave the car. Now, she followed with quiet disdain as he got their meager belongings from the trunk.

* * *

The little inn was, well, modest to say the least. Clint checked them in under their false names, claiming Natasha as his daughter to get them through with less suspicion, his French perfect as though he was born and raised in the country.

Their room on the other hand, was absolute crap. There were two beds, barely standing on the wooden legs they had under them. It was disgusting and shitty and he hated the thought that he had just gotten Natasha out of a dump like this and was forcing her back into it.

"Sorry, but it's only for a few days," he said apologetically in Russian as she sat down cautiously on the bed.

"I've slept on worse," she said blandly, laying down and turning on her side. She stayed like that for a few hours before Clint was sure she'd drifted off again. He left the room quietly, making his way down to the market he'd spied earlier and picked up a few things to eat and a couple of bottles of water. It was a few hours later when he walked into their room to a gun pointing at him, point blank.

Natasha was shaking and livid, her eyes wild and angry. Their bags were packed and by the door, their beds made, everything pristine. Clint dropped the bags he carried with him and dropped to his knees so he was level with her again. She was panting, her eyes darting wildly to the bags he had put down and then his face.

"Natasha, Natasha put the gun down. Please put the gun down," he said as soothingly as he could, his voice low, his words none-threatening. "Please."

"You were gone," she said adamantly. "You _left_ _me_ alone. You said you were taking me away to somewhere better and you left me alone, in this _dump_. You _left_." Her words were sharp, her voice shaky. "You _left_. _You left_." Her eyes were filling up with tears and Clint felt like the world's worst hero.

She must have been terrified waking up alone after trusting Clint enough to leave with him. Shit, but he had definitely fucked this up. Natasha was shaking in fear that once again she'd been left, just like those assholes had done to her, he bet. To train her, maybe, see how she could do alone for a few days, weeks, months. He didn't know. And at this rate, he never would.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it. "I'm sorry. I went to get food, I didn't leave. I wouldn't leave. I promised Natasha. I promised. I don't break my promises, they're all I've really got in life." He took the gun from her small hands, gently, watching her face, hoping against hope she wouldn't break down and cry.

Instead, she grit her teeth and then bit her hand. She bit it so hard blood stained her teeth when she pulled it away from her mouth. She then smeared her bloody hand on the wall and then looked at him expectantly.

"Promise me," she said, half vulnerable half don't-fuck-with-me. "_Promise_ me."

Clint nodded, taking out a knife and slicing his hand before smearing his blood on the wall beside hers. "I will take you somewhere better," he said. "I promise. On my life, I promise."

"And I won't kill you," she said, deadly serious so that he felt ice in his veins. She could have killed him. She could have tried. She hadn't. That had to mean something.

He nodded and she nodded back, then he unpacked his spoils and they ate in silence, each sitting on their respective bed.

Clint woke up to Natasha sitting up in her bed, right where he left her, eyes wide and red rimmed, shadows like bruises smudging under her eye sockets. She was pale and haggard and merely nodded to him as he sat up.

"Did you get any sleep?" he asked gently.

She shook her head, as though he was the stupid one. "I watched." Natasha nodded to the window and door, a highly paranoid look on her face. "I had to watch. Make sure no one came."

Clint swallowed hard. "Well, now I can watch. You should sleep a little."

She eyed him wearily. "You won't leave?"

"I won't leave."

"Good," she mumbled turning over. And then she was out like a light.

Clint sat there and shook his head, sliding out his phone and dialing a familiar number. He couldn't shake this awful wave of sadness that hit him when he thought of the fact that she had found the need to keep watch. In an inn room. She thought someone was going to kill them. Still.

He didn't even know if the person he was calling was awake. It was pretty late in New York at this time…

"M'ello?" he heard mumbled and Clint felt a bit bad.

"Sir? Should I call later?" He was going to be up for a bit anyway.

Suddenly he heard rustling and creaking. "Clint? Where are you?" Phil said, his voice no longer scratchy from sleep.

"France," he said blandly. "Trip's delayed by three days due to construction." He stifled a yawn. He was going to sleep for forever when they got back to New York.

"Ok. Be careful."

"How's things on your end? Fury reaming us yet?" Clint asked.

Phil gave a tired chuckle that made something in Clint's chest ache and said, "Not yet. I'm telling him the whole story tomorrow since he's starting to get worried that you've gone AWOL."

"Tell me how that goes," he said back. And then, "Seriously though, thanks. I… I know this isn't a call that anyone ever really makes, but I just couldn't-"

"I get it Clint. I really do. Stop explaining yourself, especially to me." Phil was silent and then he asked, "How is she?"

Clint sighed tiredly. "Sleeping now. She stayed up all night because she thought she had to keep watch. I mean, what kind of monster sleeps while an eight year old sits up and watches out for danger? I have no idea what happened to her to make her the killing machine she is, but I have this weird feeling that she has an awesome reason."

"Jesus," Phil said. "I don't even… Adults I get. But when you do that to a child, that's crossing a whole new line."

"Yeah…" Clint said, watching the little body on the bed across from his. She wasn't sleeping soundly, tossing a bit in her sleep. He didn't know what to do. Not really. Didn't mean he couldn't try. "Hey, Phil. We'll be home in a few more days. Try to settle things out with Fury, yeah?"

"Yeah," Phil said. "And be careful."

"Yes mom," Clint said, already getting off his bed.

"Barton I'm not kidding. Don't get yourselves killed over something avoidable."

"I know," Clint said softly, because he got it. They were all taking risks. What was the point in them if he was going to throw their lives away like an idiot? "I get it. I gotta go."

"M'bye."

"Bye."

Clint hung up, tossing his cell onto his mattress, then he walked over to Natasha's tossing form and went to his knees by the bed. He rested a hand on her back and rubbed in circles while singing _Hey Jude_ in Russian.

She stopped moving and whimpering after that.

* * *

London was a busy place, cluttered and muggy. Clint made sure Natasha kept close as they walked to the airport. It was a bit hard, seeing as he was trying not to touch her, since she liked to flinch away from his touch. And then the weirdest, most amazing thing happened. She grabbed his hand then pointed curiously off to the harbor.

"What is all that – that blue?" she asked, tugging his hand.

Clint was shocked for a moment. Her voice hadn't changed and she was only tugging his hand, letting go for a minute before grabbing it again. But it was a start.

He looked to where she was pointing. "All the – Natasha, that's the _ocean_."

She looked at it longingly then and Clint's chest hurt again. "I've never seen the ocean before," she said quietly. "It's beautiful."

And at that moment, Clint didn't care if she chopped his head off, he scooped her up into his arms and against his chest, holding her close and letting her put her head down on his shoulder with a tired sigh. "C'mon kiddo, let's go."

She didn't say a word.

* * *

"Please explain to me _again_ what exactly happened Agent Coulson," Fury said, pacing his office. "Please. Because all _I_ keep hearing, and I don't know what _you're_ hearing, but all _I_ keep hearing is that you let Agent Barton get away with _not_ killing one of the world's deadliest _assassins_ and let her travel back _here_ with him." He spun on his heel. "Is _that_ what you're telling me Agent Coulson?"

Phil grit his teeth. He had no patience for this bullshit. "Yes, sir. That is what I'm telling you."

Director Fury collapsed into his seat. "Why the _hell_ did you let his crazy ass do _that_?" Fury had his head in his hands. "Just out of curiosity?" Phil felt a bit bad. The hit on the Widow had come through the Council. Fury was going to get shit for this. A lot of shit.

"Apparently she's an asset, Director," Phil said patiently.

"Of course she's be!" Nick said, his head flying up. "If we could talk to her and convince her to come to our side. But we can't! You don't convince a grown woman who kills people for a living to come to the good side. What are we going to say? We have cookies?"

Phil froze in surprise. Fury had said 'grown woman'… which meant he didn't know… which meant the Council had known… "Well, sir," he said slowly. "That might convince her."

Fury's head swiveled to look at him. "Are you mocking me, agent?"

"No sir."

"Then what are you suggesting?"

"Nothing," Phil said adamantly. "I'm not _suggesting_ anything. I'm _saying_ this: the Black Widow, known as Natasha Romanov is _eight years old_. _Sir_."

Fury stared at him in disbelief, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never did. He got up from his chair then and walked to the door. "You're dismissed Agent Coulson. Excuse me."

By the time Phil got to the door, Fury was gone.

* * *

**Kay. Clint is back in the states with Tasha in the next one. And Tasha meets Phil. Oooooo! Let's see how that goes, yes?**

**Review?**


	3. To Move With A Man Like Me

**Ok. Sorry this was a long time in coming. I've been busy with finals. But I'm good to go for the summer now, so expect more soon. Oh! And check out Teenage Dirtbag if you liked this. There's going to be a whole universe on that soon.**

**So enjoy!**

**Current Song: Man Like Me by Robert Downey Jr. (he can act, he can sing. that's it. I'm marrying into this family one way or another)**

**Current thought: Gonna go make me a sandwich, yay!**

* * *

**The Hawk and the Spider Part Three**

Phil dried his hands on a towel before throwing it over his shoulder and walking to the door. Someone had just knocked on it a second ago and he'd rushed out of the kitchen in a slight panic. He wasn't expecting any visitors tonight.

When he opened the door, he was a bit more than surprised to see Clint, and hood thrown over his head, with someone on his back, giving them a piggy-back ride. He moved out of the doorway, letting the other man and his passenger in and then he slammed the door shut, locking it quickly, before turning around and facing them.

Phil watched quietly as Clint let a little girl down, also clad in a dark sweater with the hood thrown over her head. She didn't look at Phil. She'd probably already scoped him out when he had opened the door.

"I'm sorry," were the first words out of Clint's mouth. He shrugged the hood off, shaking his hair out, and then helped the little girl with hers. Phil was surprised to see she had bright red hair and sharp green eyes. There was no smile on her face, no expression on it at all, but Clint was speaking to her in soft Russian and she was answering back, just as softly.

Clint turned back to Phil then. "We had nowhere else to go and I don't think SHIELD is very happy with me right now. I'm sorry we just barged in on your space." He pointed to the small girl, who was still staring at Phil oddly. "This is Natasha Romanov. The Black Widow."

Phil nodded. "Right," he said to Clint. "Don't worry, it's fine."

And then he got on his knees so he was level with her and said in German, "Hello, Natasha."

And she responded in the same language with a smile on her face, "Hello."

* * *

Clint froze and then looked at Phil. He looked at Natasha. Then he looked back at Phil. "What the hell just happened?" he said in English. Were they speaking… Hell, _what_ were they speaking?

"Phil, what are you-"

Phil smiled at him. "Relax Barton, let me handle this. Give us a minute?"

So Clint went into the kitchen and tried not to freak out too much.

* * *

Phil shook his head as Clint walked away and then he looked back toward the young girl. She was biting her lip to hide a smile and he said in German, "Has he been nice to you?"

She shrugged. "He's a good man. He should have killed me. He didn't."

Phil nodded. "I know. My name is Phillip Coulson. You can call me Phil. I'm here to help you as well."

Natasha looked unsure, wary. Phil didn't blame her, not after what she'd been through. "Why?"

"For the same reason he is," Phil responded, the guttural words of the language coming easy off his tongue. "And because it's him," he conceded. "I know it's a good reason when it's him."

Her bright, jeweled eyes blinked at him. "How do you know him?"

"We work together," Phil said shortly.

"And?"

"Does there have to be an 'and'?" he replied, slightly confused.

Natasha was starting to respect this man. He came right out and didn't hide things from her. And he looked after Clint, who'd been helping her all this time and being so kind to her, something no one had ever taken the time to do before.

"You work together. Sleep together?" she asked curiously, a disgusting seed of odd hope starting inside of her. She didn't know what it was for, or why it was there, just that it _was_.

"No," Phil said slipping into Spanish. "We don't sleep together." His stomach knotted.

Natasha nodded and changed the subject, switching to Spanish herself. "Where will we be staying? What will happen to me?" Clint hadn't known, but if anyone would know, it would be this man. Phil.

Phil contemplated telling her a lie. But he wouldn't. Not when she'd been lied to for far too long. "I don't know. But you can stay here for now."

"Clint too?" she asked, panic gripping her. If he made her stay here alone, without Clint, Clint who said he wouldn't leave…

"Clint too," Phil said in Mandarin. He grinned.

She didn't smile back, but she didn't glare either. "Good," she said in Mandarin as well. She scratched the back of her neck and sniffed.

Phil nodded and stood up. He'd been kneeling down to her level so they'd be face to face. "Why don't we settle you in a room? There's one down the hall, over there. There's a bed already made up. Are you hungry? Has he been feeding you?"

Natasha nodded. "Yes. Not well, but better than most."

Phil nodded, changing languages and going with Italian. "I'm making something to eat. Real food. Will you try it?" He led her down the hall, allowing her to walk behind him, keep an eye on him. He kept his hands away from his sides, his fingers spread, just to show her that he wasn't carrying any weapons. He opened the bedroom door. It was cozy, a guest bedroom for when his parents came over or an agent needed a safe house. It'd be used for the latter now. He turned to Natasha. It almost unnerved him how she watched him so closely.

Instead of speaking, she nodded and walked in, checking the single window, the empty closets and drawers, under the bed, around the headboard. He left her to it, saying that he and Clint would be in the kitchen if she needed anything and that he would call her when he was finished with the food.

Phil's hands were shaking. She was like a grown adult in a child's body, checking for every escape route, looking for hidden cameras, assessing what she could use as a weapon or a shield. It was heartbreaking and terrifying, that she could kill him quicker than he could kill her, and more efficiently and with less remorse, Phil was sure.

Phil loosened his tie, unbuttoned a few buttons at his throat. He was finding it hard to breathe at the moment. He walked into the kitchen, watching as Clint stirred the chili Phil had on the stove.

"Well you're alive. She must not hate you. How is she?" Clint didn't even turn around. "Also, this needs more cyan pepper. " Clint was familiar enough with Phil's apartment to bustle about and throw in the ingredients he needed.

"She… she's looking around the spare room. You two need to stay here until Fury can convince the Council not to shoot the both of you and maybe me for good measure." Phil sat at the little table, rubbing his temples. He'd been working all week to help Fury calm the Council. They'd claimed they had no idea she was a minor, but both Phil and Fury had expressed their disbelief and felt they were just heartless and couldn't care less about her age.

Clint turned around, a frown on his face, then something else flashing across it, before he sat down across from him and swallowed hard. "That bad? Shit, Phil. I'm sorry. I warned you-"

"Shut up, Clint," Phil said. They only spoke each other's first names outside of work. In SHIELD, they were Agents Coulson and Barton. But in Phil's apartment, in his tiny kitchen at that tiny table, they were just Phil and Clint, two men who'd been working with each other for almost ten years and had grown to know each other better than they knew themselves. "Nothing you can say will convince me helping you was a bad idea. So."

Clint shook his head, knowing when to drop the subject. "Fine. Tell me this then: how the hell does she know German?" He'd finally recognized it. It said something about the last time he used the language that it had taken him a moment to figure out what it was.

"And Spanish, Mandarin, Italian and I guess more." He shrugged. "I heard it in her accent. It was Russian with a lilt of something else, suggesting that whoever taught her taught her to speak more than one language. Not English though, she doesn't seem to understand it." Clint briefly remembered asking Natasha if she'd ever left Russia, remembered her answer. That explained that then.

"You know she'd never seen the ocean?" Clint said suddenly, looking down at the table, a heartbreaking look on his face. "The _ocean,_ Phil. The large body of water that covers most of the Earth? She'd never…" He sighed and shook his head. "Fuck. _Fuck_. What did they do to her? _How could they?_"

Phil sat back, a bit surprised. He'd never seen Clint affected by anything, not like this. There was the occasional mission that left him silent for a day or two, but then he was back to that quick mouth of his and witty smile. But now, now he looked wrecked, like nothing would ever be righted. He remembered Clint's file, had read it a thousand times, yet that told him nothing of the man. Sure, Clint had shared things about his life with Phil over the years but… none of it was helping now.

He knew better than to ask if Clint was alright; he obviously wasn't. So Phil got up, checked the chili, poured the other man a bowl of it and set it down in front of him. "Eat something. According to our little spider, you haven't been feeding her or yourself well." That gave him a broken laugh, but it was honest and that was good enough for Phil. He poured another bowl and then asked Clint, "Will she come out and eat with us?"

Clint shrugged. "I don't know. She's used to just me being around, but she seemed ok with you. I think she can sense when you're an asshole and when you're not. She's a good judge of character."

"Then why did she decide to trust _you?_" Phil teased.

"Phil, I'm wounded. How long have you known me?" Clint smiled, though.

Phil shrugged, pretended to do the math in his head, but he knew, he always knew. "Eight years, ten months, three weeks and five days." He gave a shy grin at Clint's look of amazement. "I'm nothing but precise."

They fell silent after that and Clint stood up. "I think I'll go see if she-" He stopped, looking a bit surprised and causing Phil to turn around and see what the ruckus was all about.

And there was Natasha, her hooded sweatshirt off, in a black t-shirt and ratty jeans that Clint had picked up in some consignment store along the way. Seeing her in the bright light of the kitchen, she looked a lot paler and smaller and thinner than at first. She looked so young, and both Clint and Phil felt an odd pang of sadness hit them right square in the chest.

"I think I'll try that," she said in Russian, pointing to the chili on the table.

Phil nodded and set the bowl closer to another seat, getting up to fetch glasses as Clint got the water pitcher from the fridge. He set the three that he took from the cupboard on the table in front of each of them, letting Clint fill them as he went to go make himself a bowl of chili.

Natasha slunk forward, sliding into the seat wither chili bowl in front of her. She lifted the small spoon Phil had found for her and took a tiny bite, raising an eyebrow in what looked like approval judging by the way she kept eating. Then again, she might just be used to eating whatever crap her previous company had given her.

"Phil tells me you speak a shit-ton of languages, Natasha," Clint said in Afrikaans sitting down again.

"Language," Phil reprimanded in the same language as he sat as well, which told Clint that he was correct in assuming Natasha could understand them.

Her forehead rumpled. "I have to have some secrets. And you never asked," she replied, falling into the same language and dialect as the two SHIELD agents. Her face went blank again.

Clint shared a quick look with Phil and they continued to eat in silence until Phil broke it again. "Do you like the room?" He was speaking in Russian again.

"It's a place to sleep," she said quietly. "Though I do thank you for your… generosity." Her eyes looked wide as she looked at the both of them. "No one has ever… done that for me before." She swallowed hard and Clint hoped to God that she wouldn't cry. It physically hurt him whenever she did.

"We're glad to help," Phil responded quietly. "And I hope the food is to your liking as well."

"I don't have to like everything," she snapped, then looked away in what may have been embarrassment or fear. Clint didn't know. He didn't like either option, either.

Clint swallowed. "You don't have to, Natasha. We won't make you do anything you don't want to, or like anything you don't want to. Ok? You don't have to be afraid of that with us."

"And we aren't going to hurt you if you tell us what you think," Phil added, his tone of voice just as soft and soothing as Clint's. Russian sounded beautiful falling off his tongue when his voice was pitched that low, Clint thought. Then he stopped thinking it, because he'd been dealing with this and now a simple voice change wasn't going to call it all back and break his progress.

Natasha looked back, her face confused and hurt. She didn't say another word, just finished eating, got up, and left the table in silence. The moment she was out of the kitchen, Clint groaned and let his head drop into his hands.

"I suck at this. I don't know what to do when she's like this. Jesus Phil, what do I do?" he asked, hating how confused he sounded.

"You let her have her space. She'll be fine. She needs to get through some things alone and this is one of them," Phil answered. He put a hand on the back of Clint's neck where it was bent over in his hand and rubbed it once before realizing that it was unprofessional and that Clint might-

Clint leaned into the touch, sighing. He was tired. They'd been running to America and he was tired. Phil finally dropped his hand, letting his fingers slowly drag away and then he was putting the bowls in the sink and saying, "You look like death warmed over. You need sleep."

"Couch?" Clint asked, not really caring at this point. He'd been awake to long. He got up and stretched.

"Unless you want to share a bed with me," Phil said, only half-joking, because they'd done it on missions, even though this was different, it wasn't a mission, this was helping a small girl stay safe and he was being a bit selfish here. Clint was his co-worker, his best friend at the most. And they had a little girl in the next room dealing with trauma even they couldn't begin to fathom.

"Oh, only if you don't mind," Clint teased back, though he looked like he was considering it for a moment before he walked over to the sofa and tossed himself onto it. "Till then, looks like I'm couched."

"That would imply that you've been in my bed prior to this," Phil said walking into the living room from the kitchen and bracing himself against the back of the couch. He rolled his eyes. "Which you haven't," he pointed out.

"Details," Clint said as he waved a hand and yawned. "What are we going to do until we get the ok from Fury to come in?" Clint asked quietly then.

"As long as you don't mind the couch, you two can lie-low here. I don't mind. Though we'll have to go out and buy her some clothes, some shoes. Basic stuff." Phil bit his lip. "Unless you have a better idea?"

Clint shook his head and clenched his jaw. This was his mess and yet Phil was willing to help, to roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty with Clint. He really needed the guy and the best part was that he was there and willing. "No. Thanks Phil. Seriously, thank you. I can't do this-"

"Without me, I know," and Phil smiled. "As usual, Agent Barton."

Clint shook his head and tossed a pillow at Phil's face. "Kindly fuck off, sir."

They were on the run from Russians, the Council could be planning to kill them, Fury could be planning to kill them, Natasha could be planning to kill them, but it was ok, because Clint had Phil and Phil was going to help and he didn't have to save someone alone.

* * *

**I told you there was going to be Clint/Phil. Stop now if that's not your speed. It's like, ClintxPhil with Tasha. It's like the Super Family (StevexTony and Peter Parker as their son) except it's called the SHIELD Family with Tasha as their daughter.**

**So.**

**Next up is more bonding as they wait for the Council to decide what to do with them. And when I say bonding, I mean clothes shopping for Tasha. And stuff. And she starts to get close to the boys. And they start getting attached to her and each other. **

**YAY.**

**Ok. I'm done.**

**Review?**


	4. Miserable At Best

**So. I'm sorry this took so long and YES i am continuing it. Just... had a lot of stuff, I finally made myself sit and write.**

**Slash warning: a bit heavy on the Clint/Coulson, so if you don't like, then don't read it. More about Natasha and her past and the itsy bisty spider has a little secret she's keeping.**

**Ok. Awesome.**

**Current Song: Miserable At Best by Mayday Parade**

**Current Thought: UGH. I have to go do summer reading. Shoot me.**

* * *

**The Tale of the Hawk and The Spider Part Four**

Clint woke up on the couch, a crick in his neck that would be gone before noon. He could smell coffee and eggs and bacon, for which he was eternally grateful, and he got up, stretching as his joints popped and made his way to the kitchen.

"You're up," Clint said as he sat at the kitchen table and Phil plopped a mug of coffee in front of him. "What are you even up, it's like…" and he checked the clock on the oven, "… eight thirty. On a Saturday."

"I'm an early riser Barton, you know that," Phil answered. He set a plate in front of Clint that had the other man closing his eyes and moaning obscenely.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Clint asked as he dug in.

"You mean feeding you because you don't eat like a normal human being? Um, because I don't really want you to die?" Phil hazarded with a small grin.

"No, not feeding me, though I do appreciate that," Clint said around a mouthful of food. It said something about how long they worked with each other that Coulson didn't even bat an eye when he was faced with a mouth full of half-chewed breakfast. "The way you're so… eh."

"Eh?" Phil said, sitting with a cup of coffee. "That's helpful."

"The way you're like…" Clint swirled around his coffee a bit. "Like, you're a housewife, but you kick a lot more ass and you're better with kids and you can put up with my bullshit."

"Right. Eh," Phil said, secretly flattered. He cleared his throat to shove off the familiar warmth that these stupid comments from Clint usually brought to his chest. "So. Speaking of kids… any idea what you want to do with her today?"

They didn't say her name, but she walked into the kitchen a moment later anyway, bright eyed in a pair of pajamas Clint had picked up for her on the way. She silently grabbed a plate and filled it with food, sitting away from them at the table and not looking at either of them.

Clint raised an eyebrow and Phil shook his head; let her have her time. They were in no rush.

After a few minutes, Clint opened his mouth to speak , but Natasha beat him to it. "I apologize. For my… behavior last night. That was uncalled for. You are just trying to help me." She wasn't looking at them still, and it hit Phil that she was a child, a child that was having a hard time apologizing because that was how children were.

"It's fine," Phil said softly.

"Don't sweat it," Clint threw in, and she finally looked up and gave him an odd look. "Figure of speech?" he tried. Then he turned to Phil. "That didn't translate well in Russian, did it?" he asked in English.

Phil shook his head. "It sounded like you said 'a sweating pig'."

Clint nodded. "Right." He turned back to Natasha and said in Russian, "Ignore me."

She tried for a smile that looked like a grimace. "I'm beginning to see that," she said dryly.

And then Phil stopped drinking his coffee and turned his head to laugh. Who knew the kid was capable of dry humor? And the glare that Clint was directing his way was just too adorable, not that he'd ever tell.

"Don't glare that way Barton," he said in Russian for Natasha's benefit. "Your face might freeze that way."

Natasha stifled what might have been a giggle had she let it free and Clint just raised a lazy eyebrow at him and continued eating. So maybe Phil had over-stepped his boundaries and the flirting wasn't appreciated. Shit. He cleared his throat awkwardly, ignoring the concerned look Clint was throwing him and turned to Natasha.

"I would like to go out with you today," he said to her.

She looked at him warily. "For what?"

Phil shrugged. "I'd like to show you around New York a bit and maybe go shopping. I see that what you have by way of clothing is a bit limited and out of date, though I'm sure Clint did all he could for you while you were on the run. Would you like that?"

She froze and looked to Clint for confirmation, but he looked just as stunned as she did. So Natasha took the initiative and nodded slowly, as if the opportunity might be retracted if she answered the wrong way. "Yes," she said softly. "Very much."

"Good," Phil said letting out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding and nodding to Clint who had an expression on his face Phil couldn't place. "We can leave after breakfast," he said in fluent Russian. "You can choose anywhere you like once we finally get a look around."

Natasha was a child above all else, so she casually rushed through her breakfast then ran into her new room for day clothes as Phil and Clint cleaned up. As Phil was putting the dishes in the sink, Clint bumped shoulders with him.

"Thanks," he said with a smile. "I don't know what I'm doing half the time, so thank you."

Phil shrugged, turning from the sink. "She looks up to you, you know, looks to you for guidance. Be there for her and you'll be fine."

Clint took a step closer, and suddenly Phil was pressed up by the sink, barely an inch between them. Clint was looking into his eyes like he'd just found something he missed the first million times he looked into them. "Yeah," he said softly, one hand reaching out tentatively. "Yeah, but you-"

There was a throat clearing and the Clint was a million miles away, snapping out of whatever it was that had taken a hold of him. Natasha was in dark jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, a red eyebrow raised as if to say, 'I'm sorry, but was I interrupting something?' Clint smoothed his shirt down and Phil just raised an identical eyebrow at him, trying to hide the fact that his heart was beating a tattoo against his ribs and succeeding.

"Right so, I think that's our cue to go, I'm all set, Phil are you all set?" Clint rambled, his ears turning red.

"Yes, I'm just grabbing my coat and my wallet, then I'll be good." He eyed Clint for another moment, shook his head and then walked out the door and made his way to his room.

Left to their own devices, Natasha crossed her little arms and stared disapprovingly at Clint. "And you said that you two were not like that."

"We aren't," Clint answered in Czechoslovakian.

She sighed a little bit. "Liar," she answered back in the same language. "You like him."

"It's never been a problem before," Clint said before he could stop himself. "It's not going to be now. And shut up, you're like six-"

"Eight," she responded dryly.

"Whatever. Stay out of my nonexistent love-life." But he said it good-naturedly.

Then she paused. "Does Phil know Czech?"

"…no…"

Natasha blinked up at him and pouted. "You are hopeless."

"_Shut up_."

* * *

Natasha ended up loving the city. She adored the park, but was too intimidated by the large, open space and stuck close to Clint, a hand unconsciously fisting itself in the sleeve of his coat as she looked around, eyes wide at everything around her. She was fond of the theatre too, finding the large space gorgeous and easier to be in because it had walls. But nothing was playing and all that nights tickets were sold, so Phil promised her that he'd look a few things up on the theatre's website and see what would be showing in the next few days and try and score the three of them tickets.

Natasha had a smile on her face for the rest of the afternoon, even after she ate her first hotdog and made faces the entire time she was chewing.

They finally made their way to the shopping district and her eyes widened at all of the stores. She pointed out a few that looked interesting but then refused to walk off the sidewalk and across the plaza to go to the shopping strip. There was a worried look on her face, her forehead broken out in beads of sweat. Clint saw Phil look at her worriedly, but he just waved the concern away. Phil said he'd be fine if he was there for her when he needed it. Clint planned on doing exactly that.

He crouched down to eye level with her and grasped her little arms. "Tasha?" he asked quietly, using the nick-name for the first time and watching as she raised her eyes in answer. "What's wrong?"

Her little jaw clenched and so did his heart because she looked so fucking afraid. "The… the crowds." She swallowed and looked away, embarrassed but not showing it even though the tips of her ears got red. "The crowds are… stifling. They bother me."

Phil's eyes lit up in understanding as he looked across the plaza. It was jam-packed with people that they would have to walk through to get to the shopping strip, and he totally understood why a sever claustrophobe wouldn't want to go anywhere near it. The most prominent thought in his mind though, was this: what had they done to her to make her so afraid of cramped spaces?

Clint was thinking the same thing and the look on his face hurt Phil to even look at. "Ok, sweetheart, that's fine. Would you like one of us to carry you?" Clint asked quietly. Phil nodded his assent.

"_Yes_," she said, whispery soft, not wanting to be deprived of the shopping trip while not wanting to be the burden she had always been told she was.

Clint nodded. "Me or Phil?"

"You," she said without any hesitation, and he picked her up with less than that. But then she snuck out a hand, the other one clutching to Clint's shoulder, and she wiggled her fingers at Phil. He felt something twist in his chest and he nodded and gave her his index finger to hold onto, because she was too small to take his whole hand.

They walked across the way like that, people moving out of the way and commenting on the brightness of Natasha's hair as they did so. Most comments were ignored until they got to the first store and Clint asked her if she wanted to go down. She let go of Phil's finger and shook her head 'no'. That was fine. Phil ushered Clint in, a hand to the small of his back, holding the door as they went in first.

"Tell us if you see anything?" Phil said and she nodded. There wasn't much that interested her, but they walked around for a bit to calm her down, letting her know it was ok to be vulnerable like this around them. It forged some kind of invisible bond that was just strengthening as the day went on.

A store's clerk pulled Phil aside as Clint and Natasha were looking at some scarves they'd found, her mood lifting a bit, evident in the way that she was responding. "Is the little miss alright?" the woman asked him.

Phil nodded, trying to assuage the woman's worry. "She's fine. Doesn't like cramped spaces. The crowds in the plaza spooked her a bit." He could hear the worry in his own voice. "She'll be fine. He knows how to calm her down," Phil said, without really thinking about the words.

"Abusive family before you two?" the woman asked in a hushed voice, snapping Phil out of it and making him look at her oddly.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry if I insulted you if she's been with you two all her life. That was rude and presumptuous of me." She looked flustered.

And shit, now that Phil thought about it, hell, this woman thought they were a couple that adopted Natasha. He wanted to laugh it off and say no, that they were just watching her for a bit, but that would sound odd and was not good for any semblance of cover that Fury wanted them to keep while he had his way with The Council.

At least they had a cover story now.

"Yes. Abusive family before us. We got to her just in time though," he said, the lie smoothly falling from his lips. "And I think that those two are done, so we'll be off. Thank you for the service." And he quickly ushered Clint and Natasha out.

Clint made a face. "Oh? What did Grammy- Sunshine want?"

Phil rolled his eyes. "Don't ask. You don't want to know."

"Oh, you are so telling me later," Clint said with a wicked smile that did things to Phil's heart and then he set Natasha down and let her take his hand and drag her to the store that had really caught her eye in the beginning.

They walked inside, still slightly behind her and she ran ahead of them. There was a systematic way that she looked at the store. She checked for all the exits just as Phil and Clint were, then tackled it with the kind of strategic approach a sniper would take. She got the edges first, then made her way to the middle. Clint hung back, grudgingly impressed and a little sad too. She was a kid. She should have just been running about with wild abandon.

"Well, she seems to like this place. She'll be distracted for a bit. Shall we look for something for her?" Phil suggested. Having three people at worked seemed better than just one prepubescent one, so Clint nodded and they got to work.

They were still in there an hour later, a shopping cart of carefully picked out clothes beside them as they jointly picked out clothes.

"She's into the whole black and red thing," Clint said, judging by the way all the clothes Natasha had brought to them were one of the two colors or a mix of both. "And she's not very into skirts," Clint said, shaking his head at the little black one that Phil was holding, with the red sparkles.

But Phil was shaking his head. "It's not a skirt Clint, it's a tutu."

Clint burst out laughing. "Why the hell do you have a tutu, Phil? Oh my god, how did you say that with a straight face?"

Phil bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't laugh as well and ignored the salesclerk that had noticed them and was coming toward them. She was still a long way off. So. "You told me yourself that she was drawing pictures of ballerinas the entire trip."

Clint shrugged, sobering up. "Doesn't mean she wants a tutu." He went back to looking at clothes.

"I know. I was thinking more along the lines of dancing lessons."

Clint froze then turned to Phil with a shocked face. "Are you serious?" he asked incredulously. At Phil's raised eyebrow, he blanched. "You're fucking serious."

"Language, this is a children's store."

"You want to enroll her in a dancing school? She can't speak English Phil! And," now Clint lowered his voice. "And no offense, but that costs money I don't have. With my SHIELD salary, sure. Easy. But I'm locked out right now and it's a stretch for the clothes alone-"

"I never said you were paying for it. And I'm not locked out. And I'm paying for this stuff, it's why I brought my wallet," Phil said, a bit irritated now. Why couldn't Clint just let this go.

"Phil," he said aghast. "I couldn't let you-"

"She's not just your responsibility anymore, Clint," Phil said quietly, placing a thoughtless hand on Clint's forearm. "She's mine too. I said I'd help and this is me helping. She's a smart kid. We can get her through the English language in a few weeks, maybe less. It's fairly easy to learn when she knows all these other languages. And I have a feeling she knows more than she's letting on. And she needs something like this, needs to something to ground her. SHIELD's not letting you back in for a while, don't be a fool. This'll be good for her."

Clint stared at him and then there was a soft, Russian, "Hawk?" and he was swallowing hard and looking over to Natasha who had picked up the nick-name on their trip to America.

"Hey there. What've you got?" Clint said, opening up his hands and making a 'gimme' motion with them. She handed him a pair of red sneakers and he nodded his approval before she ran off. Then he turned back to Phil. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

Phil nodded in relief. "I told you. Not just your responsibility now."

"Oh god, thank you," Clint said, as if he was finally allowing it to be true no matter how many times Phil had said he wasn't alone in this. "She's… she's gonna love that actually," he said pointing to the tutu. "It's cute."

Phil lifted the skirt and then his eyebrow. "I think that's the point, Barton." And Clint laughed.

And then the salesclerk reached them.

"Good afternoon and welcome! Is there anything I can assist you with?" she asked brightly.

But Phil was looking around and not really paying attention to her, which meant that Clint was watching Phil and saying, "What are you even doing, Phil?"

He looked at Clint, unimpressed. "Looking for Natasha. Have you noticed she's gone missing? You're horrible at this, Clint."

"That's why I've got you. And just look for bright red streaking around. She's the only red-headed kid in the store. I think she was by the shoes last time I checked?"

"Um… excuse me?" the woman asked.

Phil spotted Natasha near the men's shirts, rolled his eyes, then turned to the woman as if noticing her for the first time. "Oh. Hello."

"I think we're fine," Clint said. Then he paused and turned to Phil. "We are fine, right?"

"Yes Clint. We're fine." Phil turned to the woman. "Thank you."

"No problem!" she exclaimed, then looked at their carriage. "You two shopping for your daughter?" she said, pointing to Natasha, with her bright red hair, coming toward them with something purple in her arms.

Phil blanked out for a minute, because really? Twice in one day? But then Clint had an arm snaked around his waist and his face was pressed almost to Phil's neck and he heard him say, "Yup. Doing a bit of a wardrobe change. She's growing up a bit. And I have no idea what I'm doing most of the time, thank god he's around." There was a fake smile on his face, that was a little bit real underneath, and a gleam in Clint's eye that was all wrong because he was about to have too much fun with this and Phil was probably going to let him. "Right babe?"

There it was. "Unfortunately, dear," Phil returned with an eyebrow raise and Clint just stuck his tongue out. "Don't tease me," Phil said with a wicked smile.

Clint's reaction was not what he expected. Instead of a laugh or easy flirt, Clint's eyes went wide and landed on Phil's mouth and he swallowed. "Not in public, Phillip," he said, his voice a note lower.

What? He'd called Phil by his full name, reacted strangely and the salesclerk was looking at them intently, like she was about to scream, 'NOW KISS!' and smash their faces together, and maybe they should, come to think of it, make it believable and maybe Phil just wanted to, damn-it.

But then there was another throat clearing like earlier in the morning and the salesclerk was telling them to call her if they needed absolutely anything and everything and Natasha was saying, "If you kiss, do it at home. I don't want to see it," but there was a sly look on her face.

Clint recovered first. He casually slid his arm out from around Phil and stepped away, a smirk on his face, fake and forced. "That, you little spider, was what we call the best acting in the world. We're international spies, Phil and I. We have to do that sort of thing a lot. Just part of the job, right?"

And he looked at Phil and Phil bit his tongue and put his mask back on. "Exactly. Now what do you have there?"

It was a men's shirt, and too big for her at that. But she was holding it out to Clint who picked it up and was a bit surprised to see it was in his size. "You need new clothes too," she insisted and she was actually right. "And you like purple."

Clint held the shirt up to his front and turned to Phil. "Well? Is it me?" He made a face, but there was some kind of earnestness in it.

It was him, that was the problem and Natasha was a little demon, Phil was sure. She'd caught on to his crush last night, hadn't she? And now she was trying to prove some obscure point, just like a child would. He'd have to get her mind off of that.

"It's is you," Phil said. "Throw it in and go look for some other stuff while we're here," he said to Clint, then dismissed him before he could say more. He looked to Natasha then and held up the tutu. "Do you like it?"

Her little hands, callused from holding a gun and knives, reached out and held it to her chest. There was a longing look in her eyes as she glanced back up at Phil. "Like a ballerina," she said quietly.

Phil nodded and out of the corner of his eyes saw Clint halt his movements to get away and stand to watch. He ignored the other man and got down to her eye level. "Clint and I were discussing the possibility of you going to a dancing school. We could enroll you in a ballet program," he said quietly. "For as long as you want, if you want to."

Her eyes were wide, her little mouth dropping open in the first sign of shock she'd shown since Clint picked her up. Clint soaked in the image, Phil soft and soothing, an anchor in her storm, Natasha lost and grateful all at the same time.

"…can I?" she asked, suddenly meek and quiet, as if she thought she was being baited and it would all be taken away.

"Of course," Phil said reassuringly. "Whenever you want. We'll have to teach you English but-" She hugged him then, cutting him off mid-sentence and clinging to him. Phil felt his heart in his throat as he wrapped his arms around her little body and buried his face in her hair. Clint couldn't help but rest his hand on the back of Phil's neck in a parody of the night before.

"You did good, sir," he said in soft English.

"Thanks," Phil answered.

"No," they heard in even softer English coming from where Natasha had her face mashed into Phil's neck. "Thank _you_."

Clint froze. Phil froze. The hell? "Wait a second, I thought you said she couldn't-"

"I said she didn't seem to…" Phil said in just as much shock.

Clint turned to Natasha, just sitting in Phil's arms. "I thought you couldn't speak English, sweetheart," Clint said, wanting an explanation.

She gave them both a blank look. "Who said that?" Because of course she knew it. They how could they be that stupid and not figure out that if she knew all those language and everything in between, how couldn't she know one of the most common languages in the world?

Phil sighed. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"You never asked," she said. Then she looked away. "And I thought… that you were just going to leave me anyway and I…"

She _trusted_ them now, Clint realized at the same time that Phil did. "Anything else we should know?" Clint asked in English.

"My birthday is in a few months," Natasha said quietly in the same language.

Phil held her close to his chest and let her settle. "Good to know."

* * *

**Yeah, so an anon suggested in a review that they put her through dancing school and kick-ass things happen, so anon, wherever you are, if you're still reading, you just got your wish because i liked the idea. So there. **

**Um... reviews? They're welcome and such!**


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